


Clans: A Tale of the Goddess's Realm Archive (rework of "Little Agent Hope" )

by CountingWithStraws



Series: The Goddess's Realm/Clans Tales [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Magical Realism, Modern Fantasy, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountingWithStraws/pseuds/CountingWithStraws
Summary: Lightning is a disillusioned Knight of Titim, sworn to protect the land & take down Bás Mór, an underground mafia that is destroying the kingdom from the inside out. At a seemingly routine crime scene a man appears claiming to be part of The Clan, a secret organisation rumoured to be made up of psychotic loons. He says they must work together. Should she trust him or is he part of the crime?I'm bad at summaries. A rework of "Little Agent Hope" into the Goddess's Realm.
Relationships: Hope Estheim/Lightning
Series: The Goddess's Realm/Clans Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785241
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Year of the Goddess 19--**

There are stories deep within the heart of all countries, legends and myths told by parents and grandparents alike as children listen with avid attention. Great yarns woven in front of kitchen hearths on cold winter nights and whispered in suspense on dark festive eves—stories of deadly demons, mischievous fairies, and courageous warriors. One story in particular had always stayed with Lightning. She had begged and begged her grandmother to tell the tale of the Great King of Titim who united the Kingdoms of Old and fell madly in love with the Warrior Queen Ollphéist. It was a story filled with epic battles, heart-wrenching betrayals, and forbidden love. As little Lightning sat by the fire in that tiny, overgrown cottage far in the forgotten countryside and listened to her grandmother’s ancient, raspy voice, she believed the City of Titim to be a splendid place of magic and wonder.

She knew better now.

Sighing, Lightning sipped her Thorthúilian coffee and looked out her seventh story apartment window as a large wrecking ball crashed into one of the last remaining remnants of the Third Circle Wall, an ancient, defensive stone wall that divided this district from the next. In times of old there used to be six walls in total, strategically placed and fortified to halt any attempt to invalid the city. Now they were torn down to be replaced by office skyscrapers and luxury apartments.

If stories were to be believed, and Lightning hardly put stock into tall tales anymore, Titim was once a beautiful spiraling port capital that cut into the jagged cliffside of Titim Bay. Now it was a towering metropolis of despair and hopelessness, the monarchy having been essentially overthrown by parliament and then run out of town several centuries ago by the criminal underground. Now the aristocratically empowered parliament resided safely inland, cradled in the bosom of the City of Fíor.

Without the Royal Army’s protection, Titim had be left to fend for itself, and the numerous gangs began to grow in rapid succession until they finally merged and became Bás Mór, the Great Death. It was a multifaceted mafia without equal or opponent until the Order of the Knights of Titim was formed after several dark decades.

As a naïve country bumpkin of nineteen, Lightning had come to city aspiring to be a fierce Knight. The Order was told to be a place of honour and self-sacrifice. Ten years later Lightning was no longer sure about the honour, but as her phone rang she was certain about the self-sacrifice. Stepping away from the window as the moon began its climb above the city skyline, Lightning knew she would be sacrificing another night’s sleep.

Snatching up her phone, she answered with a standard, “Lightning.”

“A body has been found in the Fourth Circle,” the dispatcher calmly announced. “The address has been sent to your phone.”

“All right. I’m on my way.”

It took Lightning approximately thirty minutes to drive to the location in the sparse, late-night traffic. She parked next to a navy SUV with a blanket portraying a coat of arms tossed across the back seat. The coat of arms was a red and azure shield, baring a pair of lions and wyverns and crowned with a knight’s helmet. It was flanked by a set of maroon dragons and rested on a pair of crossed swords in a bed of nasturtium flowers. It was an image Lightning would never forget, for it was a symbol her best friend wore proudly.

With a small shake of her head, Lightning looked up at the apartment complex. It was a nice enough building, considering it was a few blocks from a shadier section of the city. Currently, it was surrounded by several police officers trying to keep noisy civilians and a few reporters at bay. Showing her badge, Lightning headed into the building and made her way up several flights of stairs. She was pleased to see the stairwell and corridors were clean of any insect or rodent infestation, a rarity this close to the Fifth Circle. However, there were numerous water stains on the ceilings—at least that’s what she hoped they were.

Flashing her badge to another officer, Lightning entered the apartment. It was a standard layout, not much different than her own apartment in the Third Circle, but vastly more colourful. It looked like an interior decorating project gone wrong. The walls and accessories were an array of bright colours that juxtaposed with dark furniture, and nearly everywhere there were vases of flowers. The floral scent was nearly overwhelming.

Passing several officers taking photographs of the scene, Lightning walked over to her friend. Obera Yun Fang was a homicide detective and probably the only officer in the police force who would willingly give a case over to the Order if it so much as hinted Bás Mór. Most wanted the glory of jailing even the lowest swain associated with Bás Mór, but Fang came from a long line of Knights and was well aware of the possible negative repercussions, her father having been murdered when she was three and her brother when she was fourteen.

Taking in her friend’s dark, messy braid, plaid pajama pants, and large university shirt, Lightning shook her head and said, “Someone wasn’t home when they got called in.”

Rolling her deep green eyes, Fang said with a smile, “I was getting a higher education.”

“The Professor must be thrilled with you.”

“That she is.” Fang grinned and then nodded toward the kitchen. “Body’s over there.”

Lightning followed Fang’s gesture and saw a voluptuous, blonde woman lying naked on the kitchen table in a bed of white flowers with a crimson stripe down the centre of each petal.

“This looks like Special Victims,” Lightning said as she looked down at the body with a critical eye. “What makes you think it’s Bás Mór?”

“He does,” Fang replied, nodding toward a man standing on the other side of the table.

Raising an eyebrow, Lightning looked up as a police officer with a camera stepped out of the way and she was met with a pair of sharp, iridescent blue eyes looking unyieldingly back at her. She felt her body tense up, as if she stood before a keen predator. The eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes and where set upon a thin, angular face that resembled one of the wild cats that ruled the deserts of Tir yir Haul. For how young he looked, his hair was impossibly white and seemed wind blown, the tips curling about his ears, which were pierced with a pair of finely detailed, silver wolves.

Lightning’s eyes narrowed. She knew those wolves. They were the symbol of the Clan, an apparently noble order harkening back to the days of Old, yet there was no historical record of them. Rumour had it that they believed in utter nonsense, like demons and magic. That explained his appearance—probably dyed his hair and wore contacts to make himself look weird.

Straightening her shoulders, Lightning coldly asked, “What are you doing here?”

The man’s lips twitched in a lopsided smile. “Hope Estheim-”

“Not interested in pleasantries,” she interrupted, hating the way his deep, husky voice felt like a caress over her senses. “You’re not part of the police force or the Order. Therefore, you’ve no right to be here.”

His eyes flickered to Fang as she stepped forward to say something, utterly silencing her. Then he looked back to her and said with continued casualty, “Sir Knight, might I speak to you in private?”

“Detective Fang, please have one of your men escort the civilian off the premises. I don’t want him contaminating my crime scene anymore than he already has.”

The man chuckled at her order and shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”

Lightning raised a dark, thin eyebrow. “And why not, Mr. Easthim?”

“Estheim,” he corrected as he dug into his back pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet.

“Whatever-”

“And it’s Lord Colonel Estheim, actually.” With a flick of his wrist the wallet opened revealing a golden badge embossed with the Royal Crest flanked by a pair of wolves, one silver one black.

Lightning’s eyes widened and she heard Fang gasp beside her. Whilst she was familiar with the badge, she had never seen one on person—they were far too rare, given only to the king’s most elite men, and this one was also part of the dwindling aristocracy as well. Returning her eyes to his, she found them swirling with mirth. It was enough to clear her mind from its initial shock.

“What is an Officer of the Crown doing so far from Fíor?” she asked coolly.

The Lord Colonel lazily shrugged his shoulder and pocketed his badge. “I’m here to catch the bad guy, same as you.

Lightning’s eyes narrowed. “Your kind typically don’t deal in small time homicides, nor concern yourself with Bás Mór.”

“Perhaps if we could speak in private, I can answer some of your questions.”

“Or you can answer them now,” she demanded.

“Detective Fang, remove yourself and all of your men from the premises. Once I have finished speaking with the Knight, you may return to finish cataloging the evidence before removing the body,” he said with quiet authority to Fang, yet his eyes never left Lightning’s.

“Stay where you are Fang,” Lightning ordered.

The Lord Colonel gave another lopsided smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you misunderstood—that was an order from an officer who outranks everyone in this room. Follow it. And do quit glaring at me, Sir Lightning, you’re about as intimidating as a newborn kitten.”

Lightning school her features as to not react. She had already allowed this man to get the better of her once with the badge; she wouldn’t allow it a second time. “How do you know my name?”

“Detective, if I must repeat an order once given a second time there will be repercussions.”

Frowning, Fang shot the Lord Colonel a glare and then squeezed her friend’s arm reassuringly before ordering her men out of the apartment.

Lightning waited as the police force left, her eyes never leaving the man before her. He seemed unperturbed by either her cold glaze or the nude, dead woman between them. Slipping his hands into the front pockets of his worn jeans, he took several jingling steps back and leaned casually against the kitchen counters. The sound was strange. Allowing her eyes to finally leave his, she looked for the source. The Lord Colonel was casually dressed in tailored denim trousers and a crisp, white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The unbuttoned vest, elegantly embroidered in organic Iníonian design was the only thing that hinted at his aristocratic wealth. A duel gun holder lay empty across his shoulders and a leather strap crossed his chest from upper right to lower left. His bare forearms were covered in countless scars and lightly speckled with dark hair that further betrayed the authenticity of the white hair on his head. A strange, metallic tattoo shimmered in the dim kitchen light on his left arm and both wrists were wrapped in many leather and beaded bracelets. It was there that Lightning noticed the tiny silver bells that adored each wrist.

“See anything you like?” the Lord Colonel asked in quiet playfulness as the apartment door closed behind the last officer.

Lightning’s eyes snapped up as she willed herself to not blush. The man had a leisurely, feral masculinity about him that, under different circumstances, might have intrigued her. Might. For a night. Or two. Though she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she repeated her question from before. “How do you know my name?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m the one who specifically asked for you.”

“You asked for me?”

With what was becoming his trademark, lopsided smile, he nodded once.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a candidate for the Clan.”

Lightning stilled. “Why would I want to join the Clan? They’re nothing but a bunch of psychotic loons.”

The Lord Colonel’s eyes narrowed and a shiver ran down Lightning’s spine. Her hand itched for her gun. Once again, she was reminded of an extremely dangerous wild predator—and he didn’t even have to say anything.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly, lowering his gaze.

Lightning’s brow rose. “I never said you would.”

“But you thought it, didn’t you?” His strange, iridescent eyes flickered back to her. “Instinctively you realised that I’m a threat to you.”

Lightning frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

“Ten years ago you came to Titim swearing you’d take down Bás Mór with your own hands. You joined the Knightly Order of Titim and they toughened you up—taught you how to fight, how to think, how to be a manly knight. You graduated top of your class. Everyone saw so much potential in you. Then nothing. You spent the next eight years moving up the hierarchy by merely picking off the little guys. Yet you hunger for a bigger catch, don’t you?”

Lightning forced herself to not react; yet her heart sped up. “You seem to know an awful lot about me.”

“You’re a candidate,” he said with a lazy shrug.

“According to you.”

He pushed from the counter. “We’re wasting time. Let the team finish cataloging the evidence and we’ll review it at that little Corner Café near the Order’s headquarters first thing in the morning. That should give the medical examiner time to do an autopsy.”

“I’m not working with you and I don’t want to be a candidate.”

“You don’t have much choice in either matter, Lightning,” the Lord Colonel said as he made his way the short distance to the apartment door. “And make sure they catalogue every single flower.”

Lightning took a step forward. “Where are you going? And don’t order me about!”

He looked back at her, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as he opened the door. “That is neither here nor there, madam. Remember the flowers. See you at the café, seven o’clock.”

“Hey!” she called out as he stepped out of the apartment. She tried to follow him, but the evidence team flooded back inside. By the time she made it to the corridor he was gone. Growling to herself, Lightning held back the desire to stomp her foot like a child. The nerve of that man! Interfering with her investigation, acting like he knew everything about her, and ordering her around! She was a Knight and one of the leading authorities on Bás Mór. No one ordered her around, not even Sir Boyle, the Head Knight of her division! Work with him as a candidate for the Clan? Ha! Never. Not even if the Goddess demanded her.

Shaking her head clear, Lightning stepped back into the apartment and looked around once again. Forget him. She had a job to do. This was her mission. Though he was right about the flowers. There were just too many. It was more than a clue; it was a slap in the face. The killer was calling out, but to whom? And why flowers? Lightning tapped her fingers against the side of her leg. This many flowers were expensive. How did they even get here? Someone must have seen something. It would have taken some time to bring this many vases into the apartment—there had to be nearly a hundred. Turning, Lightning walked over to Fang, who was once again near the victim’s body.

“The flowers need to all be photographed and properly catalogued,” Lightning said upon approaching her friend. “And are the neighbours home? I want to question them soon, along with anyone else in this building.”

The detective nodded. “The evidence team started doing that once the Lord Colonel got here. And the only person home on this floor is the neighbour, Patty Fitzgerald. She’s the one who called the cops after the victim’s son, Seamus, discovered the body. Most of the apartments are vacant.”

“How old is the son?”

“Six.” Fang sighed.

Lightning frowned. It was always hard when children were involved. “Where is he?”

“With the neighbour and one of my men until Uisce’s Children get here.”

Uisce’s Children—worshipers of the Goddess of Old and protector of the poor and innocent. Lightning didn’t mind those on the bottom of the religious hierarchy, like whoever was coming for the boy. It was the higher ups that made her want to gnash her teeth. On several occasions they had blockaded her attempts to get to someone of power in Bás Mór. The Clansman had been right about that—sadly—in her eight years as a knight she had never once taken into custody anyone who really mattered.

Running a hand through her long, wavy, near pink hair, Lightning sighed and said, “Alright, let them know I need to speak with the boy.”

“Good luck,” Fang said. “Mrs. Fitzgerald said that he hadn’t spoken since finding the victim.”

“Damn.” Lightning looked once again to the victim. “What do we know about her?”

“Primula Grieve, single mother. Apparently works nights as a dancer down at a brothel in Fifth Circle. Mrs. Fitzgerald watches Seamus.”

Lightning nodded, taking the information in. “And the Lord Colonel? When did he get here?”

Fang frowned. “Before me. He was already speaking with Mrs. Fitzgerald when I got here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lightning looked to her friend. She didn’t like the sound of that. “And you didn’t ask for identification?”

Fang rolled her eyes. “Of course I did! He said he was working with you and that you would be along momentarily. I was about to call you when you showed up.”

Lightning tapped her fingers against her leg and looked over to where he had stood near the victim when she had first arrived. It was strange that she hadn’t noticed him until Fang had pointed him out. She was well familiar with the detective’s team and should have singled him out immediately. Yet it was as if he hadn’t existed until that very moment. Strange, considering how much he stood out with that lush, white hair and finely made clothing.

She again looked to her friend. “You didn’t call the Order to turn the case over to me, did you?”

“I didn’t yet have a chance.” Fang paused and then her eyes widen. “You suspect him.”

“I don’t trust him. What’s a man of the Crown doing here? Why is he wearing the symbol of that obnoxious Clan? Plus, did he really look like a military aristocrat to you?”

Fang shook her head. “Sounds like you’re going to have a long night.”

Lightning gave a weary smile. “When are they ever not?”

“Ain’t that the truth? Need any company?”

“No.” Lightning shook her head. “Just help me finish up here and then you can return to the Professor’s lessons.”

“Pft. With my luck she’s already asleep.”

Lightning sighed wishfully. “I miss sleep.”

“Still having nightmares?” Fang asked, her voice softening in worry.

“I’m fine, Fang.”

“Did you try that tea I gave you last week?”

“I’m not going to drink dirty-”

“Plant water,” Fang finished for her. “I know, but if it helps?”

Lightning held up her hand. “Drop it. I’m fine.”

The note of finality in Lightning’s voice kept Fang from saying another word on the matter. After nearly a decade long friendship, the pair were practically family, sisters even. They knew when to push each other and when to give up—at least for a little while.

“Very well,” Fang sighed. “Let’s get this wrapped up, then, so at least I can go to bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sun slowly made its grand climb above the city skyline, disbursing the deep shadows that had claimed the night. With it came a quiet murmur of cheerful greetings as Market Street gently awoke and began preparations for another intense day of bargaining and negotiations. It was one of the few streets left blessedly forgotten by modernization. The ancient, uneven cobblestone street with its stone shops overgrown with native Titim vines stood proudly within the Fourth Circle, not far from the historical Merchant Docks.

 _Fáelán’s Emporium_ , established in 13--, stood proudly in the heart of Market Street since its installment after the Great War. It was a quaint shop that carried various herbs, powders, and potions, and an assortment of amulets, crystals, and talismans. Behind the Emporium was a massive, overgrown garden, walled in by native stone, which housed both native and exotic plants of all varieties. Like most of the street’s shops, above the Emporium was the owner’s apartments, which had remained unchanged over the centuries, just like the family that lived there—clan Estheim.

Hope listened to the awakening businesses in the street below his open window and the soft singing of his mother as she prepared to open the Emporium for the day. He had spent his childhood wandering Market Street, learning all he could from it’s many craftsmen and artisans, and living in their cozy apartments above _Fáelán’s_. He had missed the steadily growing din of voices as they merged into an unintelligible sound of humanity; had missed the smell of fresh baked scones, breads, and cakes from _Baxter’s Bakery_ across the street; and the sight of the lush vines that attempted to crawl in his open window each spring. Hope sighed contently and snuggled further into the fresh laundry sheets. He even missed this damnable stiff, old mattress that creaked with the slightest movement and made his back ache. He had missed home.

There was a soft knock and the door creaked open, admitting a tiny woman with long, hair streaked with illustrious silvery gray. Her sharp, blue eyes were slightly slanted, giving her an exotic Haulian quality. Hope had always likened her to the fairies of Iníonian tales. When she smiled at him her face crinkled in fine, delicate wrinkles. She was beautiful, this mother of his.

“Hope?” she asked softly, her voice a delicate contradiction to the fierce strength of will she possessed. “Are you awake? It’s nearly time for breakfast.”

Pulling the sheet further up his nude chest, Hope looked over at her, his heart swelling with a child’s love. It had been nearly a score of years since he had last seen her. Their meeting last night had been brief, but there was no shortage of tears. “Aye, I am, but I’m not dressed yet. I’ll be down in a bit” he paused “mother.”

“Okay,” she said and then hesitated before adding, “it’s good to see you again, Hope. I’m glad you’re home. I’ve missed you.”

Hope smiled gently. “I missed you too.”

“I hardly recognized you last night. You look so different.”

He ran a hand through his white hair, his fingers tangling in the thick strands as they curled around his fingers, and his smile saddened. “Hopefully not too different?”

His mother shook her head. “No, not at all. In fact, you’re a spitting image of your great grandfather.”

Hope’s eyes widened at that. “Really?”

She nodded, smiling with a mother’s love. “Now, hurry up or the food with grow cold.”

The door closed quietly behind her. Pulling a strand of hair into the soft morning light that crept onto his pillow, Hope looked at the shimmering white colour, like the fresh snow of Oilián. His great grandfather, huh? Hope smiled.

Lightning looked at her watch. It was half past eight as she stood before the _Corner Café_. It was a small, trendy shop with extra seating on the second floor and more windows than outer wall. Not the most secure location, but definitely one where everything was in public view. She nearly hadn’t come. She really didn’t want anything to do with the Clan or the Lord Colonel, but after finishing up at the scene she had spent the rest of the night researching and came up with absolutely nothing. There was no record of Lord Colonel Hope Estheim ever existing. He was just far too suspicious to just ignore.

Entering the café, Lightning was greeted with the soft chime of a doorbell and the delicious aroma of freshly brewing coffee. Despite the modern exterior with its large industrial windows, the interior proudly displayed its heritage with warm wood trim, an exposed stonewall, and antique mix’n’match furnishings. A family coat of arms was even displayed in the place of honour above a large, unlit fireplace at the heart of the first floor sitting area.

Ordering a Thorthúilian black coffee, Lightning looked around the room. There were only a few patrons on this floor, none of them sporting a shock of white hair. Maybe he had already left. For some reason the thought didn’t sit well in the pit of her stomach, even if it was her own fault for being late.

“Looking for someone?”

Lightning turned to the barista and took her coffee. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” the barista said. “It’s just that you looked like you were looking for someone.”

“I am actually: a man about my age, he has white hair.”

“Oh, Mr. Haulian.” The barista smiled.

“Mr. Haulian?” Lightning said as her left eyebrow rose and pulled aside her coat to show her knightly badge.

Realizing her mistake, the barista blushed and quickly explained, “He came in shortly after we opened, about quarter after six or so, bought a copy of each newspaper and asked if we served any Haulian teas.”

“Is he still here?”

“Yes. After his third cup the mistress just gave him the whole kettle. He’s on the upper floor.”

“Thank you,” Lightning said as she paid for her coffee, adding a fair tip for the girl, and then headed up the sturdy, wooden stairs.

The second floor was much the same as the first, though these walls were covered with several classic paintings of Uiscian mythology and the fireplace on this floor was lit. The Lord Colonel sat near the hearth in a plush blue chair in the Grand Fíorian design, a silver tea service on the wooden end table to his left, and a stack of neatly folded newspapers at his feet. Pulling her satchel farther up her shoulder, Lightning took a moment to look upon him unnoticed as he gazed unseeingly at the crackling flames.

Last night he had been ever so much the predator, guarded and on edge. This morning there was something ageless and contrite about him. Whilst his hair was still messy, it was as if the winds that had affected it were long forgotten, and his strange eyes no longer gleamed with mischief, but instead seemed to gaze dispassionately at some distant memory that brought no light or joy to him. Bygone was any hints of his title; instead he wore workman’s pants and a sturdy work shirt, the material worn at the elbows and the first few buttons missing near the collar.

The tension in the pit of Lightning’s stomach eased at the sight of him. She did not fear him as she had last night. This was a different sort of man—quiet, reserved, yet Lightning could still sense the power of the man, hidden beneath a slight frame and lean musculature.

As if sensing her presence, the Lord Colonel turned his head, his gaze slowly returning to the present as they rested upon her. It was as if the life had returned to him. Gone was the sorrowful man before the fire, replace by a cheeky, lopsided grin and devious eyes filled with more secrets than coin in the king’s treasury.

“I nearly expired in wait for you,” he murmured affectionately as she approached him. “But now that you are here, I can breathe freely again.”

Heat rose to Lightning’s cheeks as she took the plum coloured chair in the Royal Uiscian design opposite of him. She tried valiantly to push the heat back down.

“I’m sure you say that to all the ladies,” she said dismissively.”

“No, just you.”

This time the blushed coloured her cheeks unchecked and Lightning had to look away, busying herself with sipping her coffee. Having never been particularly feminine in form, especially after all the training she underwent at the Order, Lightning was not accustomed to such flirtatious words. Lightning was just Lightning. A Knight of the Order. One of the guys.

“Forgive me,” the Lord Colonel said softly. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should focus on the case.”

Work. Yes, they should focus on work. This man was still a suspect in her mind. The thought calmed her and cooled her inflamed cheeks. Focus on the case, she told herself, and then asked, “why Haulian tea?”

The Lord Colonel blinked, his grin temporarily forgotten, and then he smiled more gently, though still a little lopsidedly, displaying a pair of childish dimples.

“How’d you know?”

She looked at him then and noticed his own cheeks had tinted just slightly. “The barista told me that you asked for it specifically.”

“Ah.” He looked down at the nearly empty cup; it seemed so small and delicate nestled between his long, lean fingers. “I know it’s not as refined as the other teas, nor your Thorthúilian coffee, but it’s hearty and I enjoy the various spices Haulians use in their blends.”

Lightning tilted her head, studying this new side of him. “Most commoners hardly touch the stuff, let alone a man of your high breeding.”

“No, I dare say even the lowest of aristocrats wouldn’t be caught near anything Haulian, let alone an unthreatening cup of tea.” He looked up at her with that same gentle smile, but this time his eyes were full of laughter. “You’re interrogating me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said simply. There was no point in hiding it. “You claim to be a man who doesn’t exist and you drink a tea that even the most woe begotten commoner wouldn’t dare touch.”

With a roll of his eyes, the Lord Colonel leaned casually back in his chair. “Oh come now, its just tea. It may be a bit exotic, but that’s dramatic.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Lord Colonel, but we are at war with Tir yr Haul.”

“No, my dear knight, we are at war with a radical group that hides within the vast deserts of Tir yr Haul. A group, mind you, that has appeared countless times throughout history and was founded by ancient Uiscian royalty.”

Lightning frowned at that. She supposed he was right, but it was still vastly unpatriotic to drink their tea.

“You never did actually answer my question,” she said.

He took a sip of his traitorous tea before answering. “I did, actually. I enjoy the spices. They warm my otherwise cold existence.”

“Right,” she said. “How did you come about it? I doubt even the specialty stores in Fíor carry it.”

“My great grandmother was Haulian. She added various spice plants from her homeland to the family garden. The tea became a morning staple.”

Lightning’s eyes narrowed. “No aristocrat would ever marry a Haulian.”

He nodded at that and set his empty cup on the tea service. “Unfortunately true.”

“Then how could you possibly be a lord?”

“Indeed, how? Quite a curious thing.”

He smiled patiently at her, giving her time to work it out herself, perhaps. The thought annoyed her. Did he think her a child, a schoolgirl in need of tutoring? Did he think that—Lightning’s eyes widened and her lips formed a silent _oh_.

“You’re a bastard,” she said softly. She had only thought to check the nobility and gentry’s registries. It never occurred to her that an illegitimate lord would use his commoner’s surname.

Instead of feeling embarrassed or annoyed at her words, the Lord Colonel’s smile grew with warmth and pride. He nodded to her, and then said, “You’ll find me in the Titim Merchant Registry. My family has lived in the same shop on Market Street for generations. I’m neither a foreign spy nor an aristocrat with no grasp on reality outside of his noble personage. I’m merely a commoner with a title who has grown up knowing the threat of Bás Mór just as you have.”

He looked at her carefully when she said nothing. In truth, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to make of him. In merely half a day she had seen too many sides to him. The man before her seemed warm, open, and flirtatious even, yet she couldn’t forget that ageless, brooding man who seemed to carry the weight of some unknown burden, whom she had secretly gazed upon on entering. Then there was the version last night: guarded, mysterious, predatory, agitated.

Lightning tapped her fingers against the brocaded fabric of her chair and looked to the fire. Why had he been so agitated? Did he know the victim? She found that unlikely. He might claim to be from Market Street, but he must have been gone for some time. Lightning knew who all of the Titim aristocrats were. Plus, he was military, active by his introduction, and he wasn’t yet a rank that stayed in one place for very long.

She looked at the Lord Colonel. He was watching her too. His long body was relaxed, completely unfazed by her gaze or interrogation. Yet, beneath the surface she could sense the predator from last night waiting for her to make her next move. She could just picture it—the arrogant animal lying like a grand king, near motionless except for the thump of his tail ticking away the seconds as he waited, his strange, iridescent blue eyes bore challengingly into her as if he could see her very soul and the workings of her mind. Lightning’s eyes narrowed. She would face his challenge head-on like she did with every other arrogant male who thought less of her because she was female.

Her thoughts returned to the case, he was giving her a surprising long amount of time to think. If he didn’t know the victim, than he had to know something about the flowers. Perhaps the flowers had been what drew him to his particular case. He had been rather adamant about having them all properly catalogued. Bás Mór caused problems on a daily bases—murder, illegal imports, rape, theft—the only thing that made this case different was the flowers.

The flowers had to be the key to everything. She didn’t believe for a second that he was here on Clan business and that this odd case just so happened to come up. There were rarely coincidences in her line of work.

“About the case,” Lightning said evenly. “What do you make of the flowers?”

His lips twitched as if in some private joke and he looked toward the plush, Thorthúilian carpet that stretched out between them. After a moment his gaze returned to her, his laughter gone, replaced with a more serious, if not slightly worried, look. “When was the last time you slept?”

Lightning’s left eyebrow rose and her eyes narrowed. “My sleep schedule doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re so exhausted that you become this obvious. You think I have something to do with the flowers, don’t you? That perhaps I’m somehow connected to Bás Mór? We can’t very well question anyone this afternoon if you’re putting all of our cards on the table with the first inquiry.”

Lightning shifted in her chair and took a sip of coffee. The brew was deliciously warm, but if she was honest, she was so tired that the caffeine did very little. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had an uninterrupted night’s rest.

“I’m fine,” she said and winced internally. The words even sounded false to her own ears, but she pushed forward anyways. “About the flowers-”

“Twenty minutes,” the Lord Colonel interrupted, his eyes softening. “Close your eyes for twenty minutes and then I’ll talk about the case. You can even tie me up so I won’t go anywhere.”

She eyed him wearily. There was something in the warmth of his deep voice, in the gentleness of his strangely coloured eyes, that made her want to trust him, to sleep. Something that made her feel safe. But she couldn’t. She knew better. She had seen the predator in him, the danger. He was still a suspect, his badge made no difference.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Twenty minutes.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated more forcefully.

Sighing, he stood. Her hand immediately grasped her gun. In an instant she had her sights aimed at his heart. He did not raise his hands in surrender. He did not even tense at the sight of a gun pointed at him. Instead he laughed. It was a deep, earthy sound that seeped into her skin and made her heart beat in odd ways. Her gun wavered and then she took a deep breath, steadying her hand.

“Lord Colonel sit down,” she ordered.

He smiled at her, a strange heat in his eyes, and placed his hand on his flat abdomen, calming himself. “Please, call me Hope.”

She kept her gun firm. “Sit down.”

He took a step forward and she cocked her gun, releasing the safety. The strange heat in his eyes and voice unsettled her, making her skin flush and her insides tighten. Yet she could sense the predator within him now more than ever, its hunger more than apparent.

“You really are intriguing madam knight.”

“The proper address is Sir Knight, Lord Colonel.”

His smile softened. “Hope.”

“Sir Lightning.”

He sighed, but his laughing smile returned. “Twenty minutes.”

“Sit down. I won’t ask again,” she warned.

The Lord Colonel leaned down and pressed his forehead against the barrel of her gun as if it was no more threatening than a twig. “You won’t kill me. I’m too valuable right now.”

His eyes bore laughingly into her as if the gun wasn’t there, as if she wasn’t a threat. The thought made her blood boil. Lifting her legs, she let out a roar and kicked out. He had read her reaction too well. Grabbing her ankles, he threw them apart and then stepped between her legs as he twisted the gun from her hand. Her coffee fell to the floor, the cup shattering, and warm liquid seeped into her pant leg. Lightning reached for the gun, but the Lord Colonel was too swift. In mere seconds he had effortlessly taken it apart and tossed it to his chair. She swung at him, but he batted her fist effortlessly away and reached into his pocket.

“You’re the killer, aren’t you?” she growled and slammed her thighs into his knees. He stumbled and fell to his knees before her. She glared at him, intending to strike him again, but what she saw in his eyes halted her. There was no heat, no laughter in him anymore.

“No, I’m not the bloody killer, but I might as well be,” he said and then blew a silvery powder in her face.

She blinked and then sneezed as her limbs went limp. She stared at him as his strange eyes changed, iridescent blue became liquid silver. What was happening? What had he done to her? Her vision began to darken. Why were his eyes so full of regret?

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he said, but his voice sounded so far away, as if he called to her from a great distance. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you. Sleep for as long as you need.”

Sleep? She didn’t…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why dates tend to end in -- (like 13--) it's because either I haven't figured out the specific date yet, or--like with the case of the date in this chapter) it's related to another book. In this story, Hope is the descendant of a character in Book 2. Since that story isn't finished yet, I don't know exactly when that character would have set up shop. I just know it's in the 1300s, thus the year is currently written 13--. It'll be corrected once Book 2 is finished. ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers! For those of you reading _Momadi: A Clans Tale_ this is from the same original character universe, but I've converted it into a fan fiction to share with all of you. _Momadi_ is still my main work, so I will be prioritising working on that for now. In terms of timeline, this story is "book 3", so it takes place before _Momadi_ (by at least 100 years), but none of these stories necessarily have to be read chronologically. None of the main characters overlap from one story to another. All main characters will be converted to fandom characters, except one--Athro (in _Momadi_ he was referred to as "Spirit")--because he is the only character that is in all four Clans stories & his appearance is too important for me to justify altering it for a fandom. Plus, since each rework uses a different fandom, that would get confusing real quick. 
> 
> Location: I’ve a massive map—& when I say massive, I mean like 10’x8’—that I’ve been drawing out as I create this world. Unfortunately, I can't really place it inside the chapters, so I’ll explain here, map-wise, what might be helpful information. The first two stories take place in the northern kingdoms (Ríocht na Uisce, An Talamh Fíor, and Iníon Ríocht). These kingdoms are what would sort of be considered the “standard.” They are the most technologically advanced & powerful. At this point in time these three kingdoms have been united as An Ríocht Aontaithe, yet they still very much have their own identities. Uisce is a southern, coastal territory with large, rugged cliffs & very little farmable land. It's where this story takes place in its old capital, Uisce ag Titim. Divided by a mountain range is Fíor, a valley territory with a superiority complex. To the east of both is Iníon, a territory with forests as thick & deep as their mythology.  
> Also in the very far north are the islands of Oileán Sneachta, a frozen wasteland of a kingdom.  
>  _Momadi_ Takes place in the Imperial Kingdom of Tir yr Haul, one of the two southern kingdoms, a massive desert kingdom that is considered backwards & uncultured by many northerners. It is also merely referred to as the Empire. To the west of Tir yr Haul is An Talamh Thorthúil, which is covered in tropical rainforests.
> 
> The Mar: Between the northern and southern kingdoms is a large body of water known as Muir na Bandia. In the Goddess’s mythology (which is the primary religion of the northern kingdoms & the empire/Fertile Lands), the Mar resides deep below the sea (the Muir na Bandia), and it’s more like the Underworld in Classical mythology rather than Christianity’s Hell. It’s the place you go to when you die, it’s where the Goddess is believed to reside, however it is also where you come from when you are born. However the term Mar is still sometimes used as a curse, as in wishing for someone’s death.
> 
> Author’s Notes: They won’t typically be this long. Promise. I’ll only use them to clarify mythology or things like that that are either asked about by you lot or would have come from some other source (such as the map or one of the other stories) that is somehow pertinent to the story.


End file.
